Family Life
by prosfan
Summary: A Collection of one shots based around Hathaway's family in my series about him and his son, Sam.
1. Bambi

So, I have a fair few one shots both sitting unfinished on my laptop, and floating around in my head, that include Hathaway's little family from my Family Matters series. I can't really promise when it will be updated but I have little free time at the moment, so it's likely not to be very regularly. Also, they won't be in any kind of order, so I'll probably jump around the timeline a lot.

It might be an idea to have read the Family Matters series at some point, as a lot of these one shots will be back story and future story and little vignettes. And they will make more sense if you have an idea what its based on. Its probably not essential though, if you don't want to.

Lastly, I have got little snippet ideas from before the fics start, to right up to James' declining years. So they aren't all going to be happy and sweet. But I will put any relevant warnings at the beginning of the relevant chapters.

Hope you enjoy!

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.

James snuffled quietly as he woke up. It always surprised him when he realised he'd had a full night's sleep, free of nightmares. He feels the bed move next to him, and a hand snakes onto his shoulder.

"Hey Bambi. Seems you slept through the night."

He hums in agreement, content upon waking for the first time in at least a week. Then suddenly, one eye snaps open, as his sleep fogged brain catches up with what his wife just said.

"...Bambi?" He says, turning over to face his grinning wife. "Since when am I Bambi?" Her grin only widens, and he knows he's in for it.

"Since you fell off the bed last night."

"I didn't fall," he mutters. "I changed the altitude of my position."

"James, you tumbled off the bed, knocked the lamp off the bedside table, and swore so loudly that I thought the lady next door was going to call the police."

"I was trying to push my shoes out of the way, without getting out from the covers!"

"Why were you even doing that?" He sighs, knowing that his answer, however truthful, is only going to dig him in deeper.

"...So I didn't trip over them this morning." She tries, he'll give her that, but its no use. She's starts laughing, and he soon finds he can't help but join in. He cuddles up to her, smiling as her laughter jiggles his head where its resting on her shoulder.

"Let me get this straight," she says, as she gets herself back under control. "You fell out of bed last night, trying to move your shoes, with the explicit intention, that you didn't fall over."

"...Yes." It sets her off laughing again, and he reckons he could probably listen to that sound forever.

"Plonker." He grins at her, and then remembers his more pressing issue.

"Why Bambi?

"I just...you were on the floor, blinking up at me all confused, limbs everywhere...like a newborn deer."

"I was still half asleep!" She must have taken it to mean that he was upset, not that he intended it that way, because she rests her head on top of his, and takes his hand.

"Deer's have been my favourite animal since I was a little girl you know?"

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I suppose I've been called worse things." A thought occurs to him, and he twists his head to look up at her, eyelids drooping, despite the good night's sleep he'd had. "You're off work today aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am love."

"Funny that," he murmured happily. "So am I."

"What should we do with this precious time then?" He wriggles, and pulls the covers up to his shoulders.

"Think we should do this for a bit longer."

"Anything you want Bambi, anything you want." He pokes her in the stomach in retaliation, and falls asleep to the sound of Chrissy chuckling to herself.


	2. Pity

James walked up to the doors to the church hall, apprehensively. All the leaflets he's been given, are adamant that socialising and seeking support are the way to deal with this grief. But these sorts of things always made him feel awkward. Groups of mother's, all in their little cliques, all gossiping. He couldn't go in and not be noticed, as a bloke he was always spotted. As a tall bloke, he had no chance. It still confuses him, that a bloke at one of these groups should be strange. He didn't understand what the issue was, if true be told. A single father was just the same as a single mother. Both of those children had lost a parent, both of those parents had lost a partner in some way. So why did a single mother get treated like trash, and a single father get praised for doing a good job?

They didn't know him. He wasn't doing a good job. If he'd lost his life, and Chrissy had been left with Sam, she'd have done a great job. But these women, with their tea, and their gossip, would most probably jump to conclusions. She must have cheated, she must have been a bitch. Maybe she's a prostitute and the father doesn't even know that he's a father. Their first thought wouldn't be that she lost her husband, and they were happy together.

They don't judge him though. They look at him with sympathy and tell him how sorry they are that he lost his wife. Its ridiculous really, he hasn't told them how Chrissy died, because its no one else's fucking business. For all they know, he bloody killed her. But no, its all sympathy and pity and he can't stand it.

Its laughable. They tell him that he's doing a great job, that he's a good man, that he's brave.

He's not brave. He knows this. He suspects Sam knows this as well; its hard to believe that the little boy isn't hearing his nightmares, despite how hard he tries to hide it. He's not brave in the slightest. This isn't a concious choice. If Sam had to be left with one parent, and he could choose, Sam would be left with Chrissy every time. He'd have his mum bringing him up, not a man who screams in his sleep.

He doesn't want these women's fickle pity, he wants his wife. He wants to go back in time and stand between his wife and the man who stabbed her. His heart _hurts_ and it feels like the only thing that's keeping him going, is the fact that his son is relying on him. All he can do for his wife now, is to look after their little boy.

He looks down at Sam, standing there, thumb in his mouth, looking dubiously at the doors to the hall. Sam looks up at him, eyes big, and shuffles in a little closer. Mind made up, he lifts the three year old onto his hip, and smiles slightly as Sam rests his head on James' shoulder.

"Come on little man, lets go to the park shall we?"

"Can fee' ducks?" It wouldn't be a stretch to head home and grab some bread. Its on the way anyway.

"Yeah...Yeah, we can feed the ducks." Sam pulls back a little and looks straight at him. The youngster turns his head on one side, and before James knows it;

"QUAAAAAAACK!" Despite everything, he bursts out laughing, before turning away from the hall, and telling Sam all about the four species of duck that live on the boating lake.


	3. Addition

Chrissy heard his key in the lock, and immediately started to feel sick again. They needed to have a conversation, and for the first time in their relationship, she couldn't predict what his reaction was going to be.

"You in Chris?"

"Yeah, I'm in the living room." He walks in, shrugging his jacket off and heading straight to the kettle. James gets them both a mug down, preparing the tea in a well practised routine.

"James, we need to talk." He turns around, looking worried.

"If its something I've-"

"No-no," she interrupts, trying to reassure him. "Its nothing you've done." Really, the guilt in this man is ridiculous, she has no idea why he always just assumes he's done something to upset her.  
"Then what-? Are you feeling better? You said you were feeling sick this morning."

"Its that I need to talk to you about." His eyes widen, and he comes over to her, tea completely forgotten.

"What is it? Chris, if its serious I-I can take time off work or something and-" He's jumpy today, she supposes that the bad dreams have been taking their toll, its not been a good week.

"-What are you on about?" Suddenly it clicks. "No James I'm not ill. I'm...I'm pregnant."  
"Are you sure?"

"I've done two pregnancy tests."

"H-How? We...we always use-"

"-Our anniversary."

"Oh" There had been a nice dinner, a good film, a considerable amount of alcohol, and certain precautions that had been forgotten in the passion of the moment. His face is completely blank for a few seconds and then he frowns.

"Are you okay with this Chrissy? I mean it wasn't planned or anything, and its you who's going to have the pregnancy." She smiles slightly.

"If you'd asked me a couple of months ago, I'm not sure. But, now, I'm...its good. How are you feeling?" He doesn't answer straight away, just looking at her. "James?...James say something, please?" A smile spreads slowly over his face, and he steps closer to her, hands on her shoulders.

"We're going to be parents. I'm going to be a daddy."

.

After dinner, they sit on the sofa, and neither of them fail to notice the other breaking out into spontaneous grins. James isn't concentrating on the comedy quiz show at all, mind too busy just repeating to him that he's going to have a child with the woman he loves. He knows full well that soon enough, will come the self doubt, and the nagging feeling that he's going to be a terrible father, and the absolute conviction that if Chrissy so much as sneezes, then that obviously means that they're going to lose the baby. But for now, before his brain has chance to properly assemble these thoughts, he's determined to enjoy this feeling as much as he can. His happiness at this announcement has surprised him, it has to be said. He never knew how much he wanted a child, until it was happening.

"-all huge?" He catches the tail end of Chrissy's sentence and knows full well he has no chance of blagging the right answer.

"Sorry what?"

"I said; will you still want me when I'm huge with swollen ankles and ridiculous cravings?"

"Course I will, what kind of a question is that? You'll be -you are- carrying our child. I'll still want you if you get to be the size of a bus and send me on nightly craving busting runs to B&Q to pick up concrete dust to put in your tea."

"Really?" She asks sceptically, a smile playing around her face.

"Yeah. Although I'm not sure concrete dust is particularly good for babies. Or humans in general really. Hopefully you'll get cravings with more nutritional value." He takes her hand and she snuggles back into him, both of them huddled in the corner of the sofa. "I'll still want you when we're seventy odd, and this kid is reminding us to take the raft of medications we're both on, and looking into nursing homes."

"Oi you! We've just discovered we're having a child, and you're already talking about us going into a care home."

"No, I'm talking about us growing old together, wherever we end up. Years of memories and photo albums to look back on, and stories to drive the care home staff mad with, when we tell them the same one for the hundredth time."

"Underneath that deadpan facade, you're quite the softie aren't you?"

"And here I was, thinking you married me for my sophistication and charm."

"Cheeky so and so, come on I'm knackered. Bed time?" He lets her get up, and then gets to his feet, following his wife into their bedroom.

Once they are settled in bed, he curls around her, tucking his face into the back of her shoulder.

"Love you, you know. Both of you."

"I love you too James."

.

He wakes up suddenly, with a gasp, breathing fast. It takes him a fair few seconds to realise that he's in bed, and that Chrissy is safe and sound next to him. How on earth is he going to stop himself dreaming like this when they have a newborn child in the room with them? Chrissy is going to need her sleep, its not fair to keep her up. Unless he takes over all the night time duties, that might make it fairer; at least if he's going to wake up all the time, he can make himself useful.

"J'mz?" He evidently doesn't answer quickly enough, because she turns onto her back, eyes still closed.

"S'right...jus' a dream hun...you're 'kay." Her hand starts to awkwardly pat his chest, in what he supposes is meant to be reassurance. He chuckles, taking her hand in his own, before coming in close to her, and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Thanks," he murmurs quietly, even though he doubts she can hear him. Then he tucks his head underneath her chin, and rests a hand on her belly.

He's asleep in minutes.


	4. School

Sam hasn't said a word on the drive home, though James can feel the frustration radiating from the twelve year old. The boy hasn't asked what the headteacher said, hasn't even asked what his punishment is. There's no point trying to start this conversation in the car though, he'll wait till they get home. In trouble or not, Sam deserves his full attention, and he can't give it while driving.

So he waits until they get in, Sam throwing his bag down in the hallway and walking into the living room, obviously waiting for James to say something, he's no where near as relaxed as he's trying to make out he is though. Ah well, here goes.

"Well?"

"Well what?" His son mutters sullenly.

"What was all that about eh? Mate, that's the second time in as many weeks I've had to come in about you fighting. Its not on."

"Just had a disagreement, that's all."

"From what the teacher said, it was a bit more than that."

"He deserved it."

"You can't just kick off Sam. You punched a kid and threw a chair across the room. What have you got to say about that?"

"Shouldn't have been pickin' on me should he?"

"Sam...do you know how much trouble you're in?" James sighs. "You've been excluded for a week son."

"That's not fair."

"You got off lightly mate."

"IT WASN'T MY FUCKING FAULT!"

"Kiddo..."

"NO! HE'S BEEN PISSING ME OFF ALL DAY. AND NOW ITS ME THAT'S IN TROUBLE NOT HIM! IT'S BULLSHIT AND I FUCKING HATE THEM ALL!" Hathaway can only watch Sam turns on his heel and storms upstairs, slamming his bedroom door hard enough to knock the picture of the two of them and Chrissy over.

Several loud thumps follow, and he knows that that his son is currently punching his bedroom wall, and punching it hard. There's nothing to be gained from trying to talk to him at the moment, he needs time to calm down a little. If James tries to discuss any of this with him now, he'll likely just kick off again.

He gives it twenty minutes, until the pacing has stopped. He makes two cups of tea, one with much more milk and sugar than normal, and heads upstairs. James knocks on his son's bedroom door, gently.

"Sam?" There's no answer, save for some sniffles that he knows the boy is trying to hide.

"Sam. I'm coming in alright?"

The twelve year old is lying on his bed, facing away from the door, curled under the covers. James knows its a futile attempt to hide the evidence of his tears.

"There's a cuppa on the side for you Sam." He sits up a little, still keeping his right hand under the covers. "Why don't you tell me what happened kiddo?

"Didn't the headteacher tell you?"

"Yes. But I want to hear your side as well Sam." The child sighs a little and starts mumbling, looking down at his knees.

"Malcolm got me angry."

"There's got to be more to it than that."

"He's been picking on me all day, cos I read a word wrong. Every lesson he kept making comments and chucking things at my chair. But all sneaky so Ms Richards never caught him." It fits with what he heard at the meeting. Julie, the teaching assistant that works with Sam had been in there, and she had confirmed that this other child had been continually winding him up.

"Didn't you say something to Ms Richards?" Sam looks up at him, incredulous.

"Course not. I'm not a grass". Sam scowls and looks at his knees."They're makin' me write a apology Dad. That's what he was taking the piss out of in the first place."

"I'll help you Sam, don't worry about that." He sighs as Sam moves his hand under the duvet and winces. "Let me look at your hand."

"S'fine."

"Sam, I need to have a look. I'm not angry, just need to have a look." Sam slowly pulls his hand out and looks away as James struggles not to react. The fact that he could hear the punches from downstairs, had told him that his son wasn't messing around. But its still not nice to see the blood and bruising coming up on the boy's knuckles. "Can you move your fingers?"

"Yeah." The wince his son gives doesn't hide how much it hurts, but its clear that nothing is broken.

"It'll be sore for a while, but you'll live," he says with a small grin. The boy stays silent as James washes the cuts and wraps a bandage around his hand, only speaking when his father has finished.

"Do we have to tell Uncle Robbie?"

"I think we might mate. He's going to wonder what you've done to your hand."

"I just won't see him for a week or so."

"Well then he'll want to know why won't he. And besides, you've been excluded for a week."

"So? What does that have to do with Uncle Robbie?"

"I can't take a week off work Sam. And you can't be left here on your own can you?"

"I can. I promise I'll do all the work they give me Dad." James smiles slightly. He doesn't doubt that Sam is full of good intentions, but he knows full well how the kid's attention wanders. There's no way he'll get on with his work if he's left to his own devices. And besides, he won't have the benefit of a teaching assistant helping him, or James himself since he'll be working.

"Nice try, but we're going to have to see if Uncle Robbie can have you at his house."

"He's gonna be mad at me."

"I don't think he will Sammy. Like me, he'll understand why it happened." He put his arm around Sam's shoulders. "I know he was winding you up Sam, and I know that was wrong of him, and you got angry. That's natural, we've all got angry at people. But you need to control it mate. Chucking a chair across a room is unacceptable, no matter what went on before."

"I just go so angry Dad. Its alright for him, he can read and write easy. He's in the top set for English and everything."

"I know you got mad. But what if that chair had hit someone else eh? I mean a chair could seriously hurt someone, and your fight was nothing to do with them."

"I never thought of that."

"Maybe try and think of that before you fly off the handle next time."

"I'll try." There's a pause and then; "I'm sorry Dad. For getting in trouble and making you worry, and not reading and writing properly, and having fights all the time, and getting fed up when you're helping me with my homework."

"You don't ever have to apologise about your reading and writing Sam, not to me or anyone else. Its nothing to be ashamed of, I'm not ashamed of you. Everyone has things they aren't so good at"

"Not everyone has a teaching assistant that works with them 'cos they got a learning disability."

"Maybe not, but I'm sure some people in your class wear glasses. So maybe they can't see as well as you, but you don't blame them for that do you?"

"That's a medical thing though."

"And so is dyslexia. Its not your fault in the slightest Sam, and anyone who matters knows it isn't." He grins and squeezes Sam's shoulder. "You can apologise for getting into trouble though, we could do with a bit less of that." The boy nods at him.

"Can we just get this letter over and done with Dad?"

"Course we can." He puts his hand on Sam's shoulder and gives it another squeeze, in reassurance. "Then I think we could just about manage some fish and chips eh?" Sam smiles at him.

"No salad?" James chuckles, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Just this once, no salad."

.

Later on, when Sam is in bed, James allows himself a bottle of ale, and dials Robbie's number.

"James?"

"Hi Robbie, how are you?"

"Fine lad fine, yourself? Sam?"

"We're alright. I just needed to ask you a favour."

"Fire away.

"Do you mind having Sam during the day for the next week?"

"Its not half term is it? Hang on, what about you? James, is everything okay?"

"What? No I'm fine, I'm fine. Its just, Sam's been excluded, and I can't leave him at home alone, aside from anything else, he'll never do any work."

"Of course I'll have him, I like looking after him, you know that. What happened at school?"

"Seems he punched a classmate and threw a chair. I don't blame him. This kid was winding him up all day, but you know how it is..."

"Yeah, its always the second one that gets in trouble. Poor little sod. D'you want me to have a word with him?"

"Nah, he's already beating himself up about it, in more ways than one. He messed his hand up punching the wall." He sighs, taking another swig of the beer. "Dunno what I'm doing wrong."

"Nothing James. He's not a bad kid. You know that."

"He's an angry kid."

"He's frustrated. And its not something you're going to be able to get that big brain of yours around, because you can read and write easily. You can't imagine what it's like to look at a piece of writing and not be able to decipher it instantly. Any more than you can understand why he can build a Lego set with 1000 pieces in under an hour, but he takes three attempts to tap in a phone number."

"Could still probably be handling it better." He can almost hear Robbie shaking his head.

"You're doing fine. He's a good lad, and he loves you."

"Suppose so."

"Go and get some rest kiddo. You sound knackered."

"Mmmm" James mumbled, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "Night."

"Night, I'll see you and Sam on Monday morning."

James puts the phone back down in the cradle and stands up, wincing a little. He heads off to bed, looking in on his son as he does so. Sam is fast asleep, looking a bit younger than his twelve years and seven months. Looking a lot calmer than he has since he came home from school as well.

Clearly, they were going to have to discuss his tendency to blow up at slight provocation, and try and find a solution.

But that would be a conversation for another day.


	5. Dream

Its the whimpers that wake her up. Chrissy glances at the clock on her beside table. Three in the morning. There's another small, scared noise from her left and she turns over, reaching for his hand.

"James? James, wake up. You're dreaming." That works sometimes. Sometimes that's all that's needed to get him out of whatever nightmare he's having. Not this time though it seems. He's not quite tossing and turning, but he's shifting restlessly about. Realising that this is only going to escalate, she props herself on her elbow and shakes her husband's shoulder firmly but gently. James wakes and is instantly sitting up, breathing heavily and gripping the edge of the bed. She reaches out to touch his back, to let him know she's there, and he jerks away, before his head snaps round to look at her.

"C-Chris?"

"Who else?" she says, smiling. "You were having a nightmare."

"Yes." He replies flatly, still breathing in slight shudders. Then he tenses a little and turns back to the window. "Go back to sleep. I'm ok." He lies back in bed, and makes sure he has his back to her. She knows him too well to think that he really is calm, or about to attempt to sleep again.

"You sure you're alright love?"

"Yeah. G-get some sleep." As if he thinks that she'll be able to just switch off and sleep, knowing he's lying there still scared, and probably feeling ashamed, despite how much she tries to stop him. She scoots a little closer, and snakes her hand over him to rest on his chest.

"If you're alright, someone needs to tell your heart to step down from red alert." Its pounding under her palm. If he was on her ward, there would be all sorts of alarms going off. It scared her to think of the effects of this happening as often as it does could be having on him in the long run. Before she has much chance to contemplate it however, he slips out of the bed. Its only when he goes to grab his pillow that she realises what he's planning.

"What are you doing?"

"Should probably go sleep on the sofa. Let you get some rest, while its still dark."

"Don't be an idiot James Hathaway, it doesn't suit you."

"You've got t-to get up for work in five hours...need your rest, nurses need sleep." She almost rolls her eyes at him, not that he'd be able to see it in the dark room.

"And you need me. Come back to bed James." He just stands there for thirty seconds, clearly debating whether its really ok for him to do what she says. Eventually he slides back into bed, facing her this time.

"I'm sorry Chris, you didn't sign up for this shit." She softly taps the side of his head.

"Daft git. You're forgetting, that we'd been together for a year and a half before we got married. I'd argue that I knew exactly what I was 'signing up for'." He nods and tries to bury his face into the pillow. She knows that its futile, but she asks anyway;

"Tell me what happened?" He just shakes his head, trying to bury in deeper, emitting a soft noise of protest. Chrissy has learnt that this means he's been dreaming about her, and something bad. Generic nightmares, he'll tell her about. But its rare that he'll share the dream if it involves her.

"Bad then." Its not a question, but he gives an answer of sorts anyway.

"Don't want to think 'bout it."

"Alright. I won't ask anymore. You can tell me though, if you ever want to."

"I know," he whispers. She gently turns his head to face her, and pulls him in close. He tucks his head into her shoulder, and she slides her arm underneath him, as close to a hug as she can get. Her other hand reaches across her body to stroke his short hair. She plants a kiss on the top of his head, and he lets out a deep, shuddering breath.

"Its over with now love. Go to sleep, I've got you. You're safe, me too. It's alright." He mumbles into her collarbone, and she smiles as she feels the tension leave him, sleep making its claim.

"I love you too James."


	6. Worry

Raising a child is hard. James had never realised exactly how hard it would be, not having had much regular contact with kids until his own came along.

He's never slept well, not since he was seven really. Nightmares have been a constant problem, and Chrissy coming and going all hours to work never really helped, not to mention his own irregular working hours. And now there's a little boy in their house, and little boys apparently do not like to sleep for a straight eight hours, no matter how tired Mummy and Daddy are.

Sam is just starting to walk now, toddling around at a rate of knots, and its causing James no end of worry. He dreads a thump followed by loud screams, easily letting everyone know that he's fallen over. Take your eyes off the eleven month old for a minute, and he's suddenly off in his and Chrissy's bedroom, trying to climb up the bookcase. Needless to say, any heavy books are now on the bottom shelf, where they can't fall on top of Sam during one of his adventures.

Speaking of needing to watch his son, the boy seems intent on tasting everything he finds. Today alone, James has rescued a button, two beads, and a penny from the little boy's mouth. God knows what he's going to do once Sam has more teeth. He has a mini heart attack every time it happens as well, mentally running through the application of the Heimlich manoeuvre on a child.

Whenever the boy is ill, its him that worries. Chrissy being a nurse of course, knows exactly what to do and how much worry is warranted. James just panics, convinced that the rash is meningitis, or the cough is pnuemonia, until Chrissy gives him _that_ look and tells him to go and get the Calpol.

His musing is interrupted by Chrissy coming behind the sofa and squeezing his shoulder, wrapped in her dressing gown. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, finger to his lips. His eleven month old son stirs on his chest, little hands clutching James' t-shirt as he rubs Sam's back.

Raising a child is an almost vertical learning curve that leaves you nervous and exhausted nearly all the time.

Raising a child is the hardest thing James has ever tried to do.

Sam sighs quietly in his sleep and a small smile graces the little boy's face as he snuggles in further.

James wouldn't change it for the world.


	7. Reading

Just going to point out, that I have no direct experience of Dyslexia, and have got this all this from reading and watching videos about it, so I might have got it totally wrong, which I apologise for if I have.

.

.

"Do you have any homework Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know what you have to do?"

"Yeah. Times tables."

"You need to try some reading today."

"Daaaad."

"I know Sam. But you didn't do any yesterday. Come on. I'll make a cuppa and we can go sit on the sofa."

"But-"

"We won't even read a whole story mate. Just a few pages."

"M'kay".

.

Ten minutes later, they are both sitting on the sofa, steaming cups of tea on the coffee table, with the nine year old leaning into his father's side.

"What book did you choose then kiddo?" Sam points at a Thomas The Tank book mutely and James opened it up to the inside cover. "You want to read the little foreword first then?" A silent nod and James hands him the book. Sam flattens it and lays it on James' lap. He takes a deep breath and then he starts, positioning his finger under the first word.

"Tuh...Thomas and his...fri-ends have lots of...um...er...ah-duh-vuh-ee-en-tuh-uh-ruh-ee-sss." Sam frowns and sounds it out again, before shaking his head and looking up at Hathaway. "What does that say Dad?"

"Look at the rest of the sentence mate. What do you think Thomas has lots of that you can read about?"

"Track?"

"...Well technically yeah. But the books aren't about track are they?"

"Adventures!"

"Well done. Go on, read that bit again."

"Ad-ven-tures...adventures. Which you can ree-ad abo-about in this..seer-eyes. No...series."

"You're getting better at correcting yourself mate." James smiles but Sam just frowns again.

"I wouldn't need to correct myself if I didn't mess it up in the first place."

"You're allowed to make mistakes Sam, no one's telling you that you have to be perfect. Come on, page one." Sam mutters something that James doesn't quite catch, but he dutifully turns the page and puts his finger under the word once again.

"It was a...bee...morn. Oh! Beautiful morning on the...is-land of Sodor...Um...Thomas the tank...ee. Um...Engine?" James nods in encouragement, although he's not sure if Sam read that or just guessed. "Er..where was I?"

"There." James says, pointing to the next word in the sentence.

"Blue. Pa-int. Paint...blue paint sp-ark-led...spark-led..sparkled in the...s-sun shine as he...puh. Puh-ff-eed. Puffed? Happily along the...branch line with his co-a...coaches. Annie and Cla...um...cla-ruh-buh-ell. Clarra...Um..."

"Clarabel."

"Stupid name." Sam mumbles and James gives his shoulder a squeeze.

"You're doing great kiddo."

"Thomas made...good time and...soon...arriv...arrived at the suh-ta-tie-oh-nuh. I don't know."

"Where are trains likely to arrive?"

"At stations?"

"Yep. Split the word up eh? Like the lady at school taught you." Sam puts his finger over half the word and tries again.

"St-ay-ti...no. Stay-shun. It doesn't look like it sounds."

"No, the English language is a bit tricky like that. Carry on Sammy, you're doing well"

They continue for another ten minutes until Sam gets to the word 'tremendous' and loses his temper. He slings the book across the room where it lands on the floor by the telly.

"Kiddo, its okay-"

"NO ITS NOT! I CAN'T DO IT!" The boy stands up, fists clenched, and he's shaking slightly with frustration. James is immediately up off the sofa, and pulling him close.

"Hey. Hey, its alright. Come on now,its okay."

"Its not Dad. Its not." Sam sniffs. "Everyone else in my class is reading books like this;" he holds up his thumb and forefinger, showing an inch and a half gap between them. "I'm still reading Thomas the Tank engine."

"It doesn't make you any less clever."

"Does."

"No Sam it doesn't." He looks at the nine year old and sighs, squeezing the boy's shoulders gently. Sam has had his dyslexia explained to him. He knows that its a processing disorder. But he still seems to find it hard to accept that its not his fault and it doesn't make him any less of anything. "That's enough for today yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam says sadly.

"Tell you what, we'll drive out and get chips for dinner. Sound good?"

"Yeah." He pauses and then looks shyly up at his father. "Can I have chicken nuggets?"

"Don't see why not."

"Thanks Dad." James ruffles his hair.

"Can't beat chips on a Friday."

"Are we gonna watch a Friday film?"

"Of course we are Sam. Go and choose one eh?"

.

They eat their chips, and James notices Sam doing a good job of pretending that he's no longer bothered by what happened earlier. A good job, but not good enough; not to his father. This is only confirmed in James' mind when Sam selects The Iron Giant as the film he wants to watch, after he gets into his pyjamas. Its always been something he returns to when he's not happy and James can see through it straight away.

"You've got a chocolate bar in the fridge mate. We could have a cup of tea and chocolate with the film." Sam nods his agreement and James gets up, limping into the kitchen to stick the kettle on. He grabs Sam's chocolate bar from the fridge and takes it in to the young boy, before heading back to prepare the tea.

Once the tea is made, he carries it back through to the living room, wincing a little as his knee protests. As he sets the tea down, he notices that Sam's chocolate bar hasn't moved from where he put it a few minutes earlier. That is very out of character for the kid, he'd live on chocolate if James would let him. Just as he's contemplating this, he hears a barely audible sniff from his son. Nonetheless, that's what it is and Sam has turned away from him slightly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'" That sentence couldn't have sounded any less convincing if Sam had tried.

"Come on kiddo. Tell me what's wrong. I can't make it better if I don't know what it is, can I?"

"You can't make it better anyway."

"Sam..."

"I...I'm..." Sam struggles for the words he wants briefly, refusing to make eye contact with his Dad. "I'm glad Mum can't see me read cos she'd be ashamed." The boy blurts out in a rush, before bringing his knees up and hugging them tight. For a moment, James is completely lost for words. He doesn't understand how the kid could think that, James knows he's never given any impression that that would be true.

"Of course she wouldn't Sam. Your Mum loved you."

"Didn't have to read and write when I was little. She didn't know."

"Kiddo, Mum would have loved you whether or not you could read, talk, walk or speak. It wouldn't have made a difference to her if you could never write anything, or if you were writing novels before you were two."

"That's not what they say at school."

"What do they know? I bet there are kids in your class that can't draw, or can't do maths."

"Yeah but everyone finds maths hard, no one teases them." James feels angry that the select few kids in Sam's class that seem to be teasing his son, also seem to be getting away with it. Suddenly, a thought occurs to James. Something that makes his gut twist.

"You don't think I'm ashamed of you, do you Sammy?" Sam shrugs and looks away.

"Maybe a little bit. Like deep down."

"No." James says, and he's startled by the vehemence of his statement. He gently turns his son's head so they make eye contact. "Look at me son. I will _never_ be ashamed of you. Not ever. You got that?"

"Even if I never get past Thomas the Tank Engine?"

"Even then. Although that isn't an excuse to stop trying. But I will always love you, even if you never read another letter in your whole, entire life. Your Mum loved you. I love you and Uncle Robbie loves you, and we always will, regardless of what you can read or write. Yeah?" Sam nods, but his eyes well up and he leans in to James' side a bit.

"Ms Danby keeps making me read out loud." Sam says quietly, and before he knows it, the kid is crying and James has his arms around him.

"Oh Sammy, I'm sorry mate."

"She says I'm not trying Dad. And I am. I can't try any harder."

"I know. I know how hard you're trying kiddo. Does this teacher know you're dyslexic?" Sam shrugs and James sincerely hope she doesn't know, because otherwise, she's using his son's learning difficulty to humiliate him into working harder. And regardless if she does know or not, how the ever-loving-fuck is Sam supposed to learn to cope, when the very thing he's struggling with is being used as a tool to tease him in front of his peers?

"Do you want me to talk to her at parents evening?" There's one coming up, he thinks its next week. This needs to be sorted out, and its taking a lot of effort on his part not to be furious. But furious isn't going to help Sam right at this minute.

"I don't know Dad. She might not believe you. She only has us for one lesson a week, the rest of the time we have Mr Stevens." James knows this, he also knows that Sam likes Mr Stevens, and that he was the one who first flagged up to them that Sam might have a problem.

"We've got the doctors letter Sammy. I'll bring it with me okay? Maybe the school just didn't explain properly. Have you ever told her about being dyslexic?"

"No." Sam mumbles. "I thought she'd think I was lying."

"Come here little man." He pulls Sam onto his lap and lets the little boy curl into him. Any other time, and Sam would be protesting. _I'm not a baby Dad. You don't sit on your Dad's lap when you're nine!_ But when he's upset or scared, all that goes out the window. "Don't worry mate, we'll get this all sorted out. I promise. How about you grab the chocolate bar and we sit and enjoy the film eh?"

"Okay. One sec though, I'm not ready." Sam scrambles off James' lab and runs up to his room. He comes back down clutching Fluffy, and snagging the quilt from the armchair as he goes past. Then he proceeds to clamber back onto James' lap and snuggle in, pulling the blanket around them both. James smiles softly at this, and squeezes the little boy before picking up the remote control.

"You comfy there? Shall I press play then?"

.

Sam falls asleep before the film is over, and James just sits where he is for a little while, appreciating the contact, knowing that Sam will grow out of this all too quickly. After a few minutes, he levers himself up and slowly carries the little boy to bed, grateful that Sam already has his pyjamas on.

He tucks the kid into his covers, and sees how Sam's face is smooth and devoid of worry for the first time since he came home from school that afternoon. James takes one last look at the sleeping child, before bending down and kissing his son on the forehead.

"Sleep well Sammy boy," He says quietly, before taking his leave, and heading off to his own bed.


	8. Undercover

Look at that, two in a week. To be fair, this is a miracle for me. Warning for brief mention of drug use by a very minor OC

.

.

Hathaway stood at the front door, almost not daring to go in. The anticipation of seeing his family, and knowing he actually would, was almost perfect. Over the last three weeks, he's imagined rushing into the house, barely stopping as he unlocked the door. But this moment was perfect and he wanted to hold on to it; somehow, the front door to his and Chrissy's little flat, was the most beautiful thing he'd seen.

He'd been undercover for three weeks, and he'd realised within two minutes that he didn't like it. A colleague had said that it felt like an escape, a chance to be someone other than your self, but James had felt none of that. He'd hated the persona he'd been told to adopt. He'd gone from James Hathaway, husband and father, to Jim Keane, small time drug dealer and general dick head. It wasn't the role itself that perturbed him, so much as how well he managed to pick it up.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the Thomas the Tank Engine theme tune of all things. He can hear the DVD playing for the umpteenth time. By rights, little Sammy should be in bed, but Chrissy had known he was coming home today, and James would place bets that she had just not mentioned bedtime to the boy, so he'd be awake when he came in. Taking a breath, he slides his key into the lock and turns it quietly.

His attempt to come in without disturbing anyone backfires spectacularly when he drops his key onto the laminate hallway floor. A deathly silence follows the clatter of metal on wood, before a tiny voice peeps out from the living room.

"Dada?" His son's little blond head pokes around the door frame, and the last two weeks are suddenly inconsequential.

"Hello little man," He says quietly. He watches as a blinding smile lights up the boy's face, one that he can feel his own features mirroring of their own accord. And then the two year old is running towards him, arms outstretched, and he's bending down catch the youngster.

"DAAAAAAADA!" Sam crashes into his arms and he scoops the boy up, cradling him in the same way he had when he was only a few months old.

"I've missed you mate. You been a good boy for Mummy eh?"

"Miss you Dada." Looking over his son's head, he sees Chrissy walk in from the living room, eyes shimmering a little.

"Hello stranger," She murmurs and its all he can do not to burst into tears. He makes a vow there and then, that he's not leaving his family again, not for any case. He knows he'll break it, he'll have to go where he's sent after all, but in that moment he'd have readily jacked in his career just for the knowledge he's never going to have to be away for any length of time again.

"Hello love," He says roughly, setting Sam on the floor. Chrissy walks over to him and he wraps his arms around her, holding on with everything he has.

"That bad huh?" She says into his neck, and James just nods. He doesn't want to talk about it now, or even think about it, he just wants to be with his family. Sam seems to have the same idea.

"Dada. Up." He says, tugging on James' trousers. When he doesn't get a response, he just tries harder, attempting to climb up James' leg. "Dada! UP!" James relents and picks the boy up, settling him on his hip.

"Little monster. Come on, I'll read you a bedtime story. What do you think?"

"'Tory. T'mas Tank." He walks over to the book shelf with Sam, while Chrissy gathers the kid's comfort blanket and makes space on the sofa for the three of them.

"I'm just going to go and change."

"Alright."

"Dada! 'Tory!"

"In a minute little man, in a minute."

He'd been to a debrief so he was still in a suit. He peeled it off, changing quickly into tracksuit bottoms and a loose t shirt. Ideally he'd be having a shower right night now, to wash away the last couple of weeks. But he can hear Sam calling for him in the hallway, and he knows that's just not going to happen.

Once he opens his bedroom door, Sam runs up to him. But instead of asking to be picked up, or trying to climb up his leg, the little boy reaches up and takes his hand.

"Come on Dada. Home now." And doesn't that nearly finish him.  
"Yeah I am, aren't I?" He lets his son lead him into the living room, and he smiles at the scene. The lights are dimmed slightly, probably part of the grand plan to get Sam to calm down enough to sleep. There is a pile of pillows and blankets on the sofa and Sam lets go of his hand and jumps on.

"Mama! Dada! 'Tory pleeeease!" No sooner has he sat down, when Sam scrambles onto his lap and settles in, thumb immediately in his mouth. Chrissy sits next to them, and puts her arm around him.

James clears his throat, and his son grins up at him. The little boy is starting to wilt a bit now, the lateness of the hour wearing down the excitement of James being back.

"Thomas the Tank Engine has worked this line for many years, and knows it very well. 'You know just where to stop, Thomas,' laughed his driver. 'You could almost manage it without me!' Thomas had become conceited. He didn't realise that his driver was joking..."

It only takes six pages for Sam to fall asleep, snoring softly and gently twisting his fingers in James' shirt. He gently lifts him up and carries him into his bedroom. Sam stirs as he's tucked in, but he doesn't wake up, just sighing a little as James bends down to kiss him on his forehead. Chrissy comes in behind him and they smile down at their son.

"Come on, you need your rest as well."

.

Its blissful, lying his his wife's arms. It always has been, but after three weeks apart, its a special kind of bliss. He can only hope its not obvious to her how little he's been sleeping on this job.

"Are you still awake James?" she whispers quietly.

"Mmhmm."

"I've missed you."

"Missed you too. So much."

He falls asleep before he can make sense of her reply.

.

James wakes up gasping, the after images of the dream burned into his brain, fading into inverse colours as he tries to work out where he is. Or who he's supposed to be. It'd been drilled into him during the prep for the job, just how dangerous it would be to slip up, just how dangerous it'd be to be James Hathaway in a room full of people that knew Jim Keane. And while a small part of his brain has registered that the wallpaper in this room is his own, the curtains are his own, a far larger part is screaming at him not to give himself away. Screaming at him that someone will work it out, and then the wankers that he has spent the last three weeks trying to infiltrate will find his family.

A young woman, he refuses to think about her name, refuses to think about how happy she'd been before they got to her. Before someone that he had to pretend was a mate, had given her some drug or another. He won't think about the change that came over her in just three short weeks.

If he fucks up, these people will find out who he really is and his family will be in danger. They'll hurt Sam and Chrissy-

"-James? James, its alright." He turns his head to look at her, and whatever she sees, its not good. "You're at home James. Its ok. You were dreaming."

"Chris?"

"Its me. You're alright." He nods. Feels a bit stupid now really, not really knowing where he was.

"Been a really shit few weeks."

"I bet." She frowns. "Did you sleep at all?"

"...Not much. Small time drug dealers aren't supposed to have nightmares and wake up crying. Tried to stay awake when there was people around at night, just in case."  
"Oh James, come here" He obliges, snuggling closer to her and sighing.

"Its alright James. Its all over now. You don't need to worry any more. You're safe."

"I know. I love you."

"I love you too. Come on, try and get back to sleep."

He slowly falls back to sleep, feeling safe for the first time in three weeks.


	9. Reassurance

He assumes that she's asleep when he eventually crawls into bed. Its been a nasty case, abduction and murder. James is convinced he's missed something, and he's been pouring all over his notes since his wife went to bed. But with all the will in the world, there's only so long you can stare at pages of notes, before contact lenses begin to feel like they are serrated. So he'd given up the ghost, and headed for sleep.

Chrissy hadn't stirred when he walked in, nor when he pulled back the covers. She'd had some tricky cases at work herself, and figured that she must have been really tired. Tired enough to sleep through his clumsy bed time routine.

But as he lay there, he realised that it wasn't the case. Her breathing was controlled, too controlled and she hadn't moved at all. Not so much as a twitch. Soon enough, a hitch in her breath signified to him that she wasn't asleep, but doing a good job of pretending to be. A few more hitches and a snuffle and he suddenly realised what was happening.

"What's wrong?" She jumped a little, obviously having thought he was asleep.

"Nothing. Its fine."

"Its not nothing Chris. What's happened? If I've done something I-"

"No...No its nothing you've done."

"Then what?"

"We lost a patient on the ward today, I'm just a bit upset, that's all." James casts his mind back to breakfast the previous morning. Chrissy had been telling him about a patient they had. She hadn't told him the young man's name, she never did, but she'd seemed to think he was going to be ok.

"The young RTC? The man who had-" _Oh._ "Who had just come back from his honeymoon." She sniffs loudly.

"Yeah, him. Multiple abrasions, concussion, broken femur, ribs. Busted spleen and liver. He was on the donor list but..."

"I'm sorry love" he said, putting a hand on her waist.

"Thought he was going to be fine. Common blood type, otherwise really healthy, everything was improving. But he just, crashed. Three seventeen this afternoon." James scoots closer to her, pressing his body to hers, and giving her a cuddle.

"Must have been horrible, were you on the ward at the time?" She nods, sniffing again, and he hugs her a little tighter. He'd noticed that she'd seemed a little quiet that evening, but he'd put it down to her being tired from two long shifts in a row, and the nightmare that had woken them both up in the early hours of last night. "Why didn't you say something Chris?"

"You were busy with your notes and I didn't want to disturb you."

"Nothing that I'm working on is ever more important that how you're feeling. Promise me you'll say next time... _please_?" She nods, and he knows that's as much as he'll get. A thought occurs to him.

"What's special about this one?"

"What do you mean?"

"You see RTC's all the time love, how come this one got to you so badly?"

"I had to fill out the forms, write all his information down and inform the next of kin."

"You've done that before though right?" She chokes back a sob and turns over, facing him, but not meeting his eyes. "Hey, hey, what happened? What's got you so upset? Come on love, speak to me, I want to help." After a few minutes she looks up at him, eyes glassy with tears.

"H-His name was...He was called J-James." She starts crying properly, and he holds her, hoping that letting it all out will help.

"I just...I imagined s-someone writing a form like th-that out for you and I-"

"Sssh. Its ok, there's no form. I'm right here, I'm fine." He wriggles a bit and she grabs hold of him.

"Wh-where are you going?"

"Nowhere," he soothes, "I'm just getting into a better position." He sits up a bit on the pillows and gently takes hold of her again, encouraging her to lay her head on his chest. Both his arms go around his wife, in an attempt to make her feel safe.

"...James." He rubs his thumb across her forehead, smiling as her eyes close a little. That's always had an almost magical calming effect on her.

"Hear that?" he says, looking down to see if her head is in the right place. "Heartbeat's loud and strong love. I'm not going anywhere, not anytime soon. Love you too much to leave now." He thinks he hears her mumble that he better not bloody go anywhere without her, before she falls asleep.

Once he's sure his wife is settled, he pulls his kindle out of the bedside table drawer. He can't have a nightmare tonight, he can't wake her up like that tonight. And he sure as hell isn't leaving her to sleep on her own while he takes the sofa, not after that. So he steels himself for a long night of reading and holding the woman he loves.


	10. Loss

James glances at the clock, ten to six, Sam will be home in forty minutes. Holly is visiting her old housemates in Liverpool, and its odd to have the house to himself at this time. But Sam should be home soon.

Which is why he's a little confused when the doorbell goes at ten minutes past six. The fire station is half an hour away, and even with no traffic, Sam shouldn't be home yet.

He limps to the door, and opens it to find Sam's superior officer standing on the doorstep. He has a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"There you go lad, home now, in you go." Sam does as he's told, almost on autopilot. James watched him go through, and turns back to the captain.

"What happened?" Sam doesn't look hurt, and if he was, he'd be in the hospital, his superior wouldn't have brought him home.

"We lost one of them today. One of the crew Sam was on got trapped in a building." James' heart sinks, its highly likely that he knows the man, especially if it was one that Sam trained with.

"Who was it?"

"Christopher Jones."

"Shit. Does the family know yet?" The captain sighs, its clearly been a long night for him, and its not over yet.

"I'm on my way to them now, after I've dropped the other lad off." James can readily sympathise with him. Its never a good job to inform someone that they've lost a relative.

"Who was the other lad?"

"Craig Maddison." James, suddenly recalls a conversation he had with Sam a day or two ago. Craig's girlfriend is away visiting a sick aunt.

"There's no one at home, his girlfriend is away." He pauses for a second. "Bring him in here, if he wants to come in."

"Are you sure?" He nods, looking towards the car, and the shape he can see through the blurry windows. He can see enough to know that Craig has his head in his hands.

"Yeah, he's more than welcome here. He shouldn't be on his own tonight." He smiles softly at the questioning look the captain gives him. "I was a police officer, way back in my thirties, I've been here before." The captain nods, clearly deciding that James is equipped enough to deal with two shocked twenty two year olds.

James watches as the captain talks to Craig, he sees the young man nod and get out of the car, and then the captain is steering the fireman towards his front door.

"Come on kiddo, lets get you inside."

He gets both of them sitting on the sofa, and goes to make a cup of tea for all of them. The two young men are pale and quiet. He'd lost colleagues as a police officer, and he knows how hard it is. Even harder if you were there, as Sam and Craig was. He carries the tea back into the living room, and Craig bless him, gets up to one of the mugs off him.

From what he knows of Craig, the young man didn't have the easiest start in life. He's been in and out of foster care since he was three. James doesn't know if his parents are dead, or if he was taken into care for another reason. Craig himself has admitted (once when he, Sam Christopher and Mark had all got drunk at Hathaway's house) that the fire service was the saving and making of him, and that he was heading into all kinds of trouble, until a careers advisor managed to get him doing a qualification in public services. It could be why he and Sam get on so well really. Sam has always had the potential to go the wrong way in life, certainly at school, his son was no angel, fighting and generally not doing his work.

And James knows that it wasn't all Sam's fault. The boy was as good as gold at home, well behaved and loving as anything. Robbie has tried, time and time again, persuade James that he did a good job raising Sam, and that the issues the kid had had at school were to do with the way the school handled the dyslexia, as much as Sam's own behaviour. But he still can't help but feel that he must have done something wrong

But here they both are, two young men, who have managed to make something of themselves, and in Craig's case, give back to the community that he rode roughshod over during his teenage years.

"You boys okay?" They may be in their twenties, but he looks at them both, sitting on his sofa, pale and shaky. They're still boys. And they're boys that have had a night that would have crushed some of the most robust police officers he knew.

"Mmmm" Sam says, entirely unconvincingly. Craig nods his agreement, but James isn't fooled for a minute. He won't force them to talk, it won't help, but he hopes that they know he's there to listen.

They've been watching a comedy quiz on telly for about half an hour when Craig speaks.

"Should have been me."

"It shouldn't have been anyone. Its not your fault Craig." Sam looks at him. "Not yours either son."

"Dad, it could have been any of us."

"It could have been but it wasn't. And I for one, am selfishly glad of that fact. But none of you should blame yourselves."

"He's got...he had a wife"

"That doesn't mean you deserve it any more then him Craig. Its tragic, and you're always going to miss him, but you can't let your self think that either of you deserve it." They both nod, but James isn't convinced they are really agreeing with him. He heads over to a cupboard in the corner, and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and pours them both a generous shot. Giving them alcohol might not be the best solution, but at least while they're in his home, he can keep an eye on how much they are drinking.

After a while, it becomes clear that he needs to get them both doing something. Just sitting there in silence is doing nothing except letting them both think too much.

"Right then," he says, startling them both after the quiet of the last hour. "Sam, you go and make some tea. Craig, go and have a shower, Sam's got some spare clothes that you can borrow." To his surprise, the two men get up and do what he suggested.

Half an hour later, both of them are showered and drinking a cup of tea. They are all eating beans on toast that James got Sam to start, and Craig to finish. Once they've eaten, Sam and Craig show signs of falling asleep and James encourages it. All this will be easier to deal with when they've had a night sleep.

Once they've gone, Sam to his room, and Craig to the sofa, he goes to his own room to phone Holly and explain what's happened. She knows Chris as well, knows all Sam's colleagues, and she'd want to know. He assures her that he's got it under control, and he's looking after Sam and Craig and that she doesn't need to come home. He also promises to text her in the morning when the boys are up, and he thinks Sam will be alright to talk to her.

He gets up in the night, feeling thirsty. And he's only half way down the stairs when he hears the sniffling sounds. He quietly opens the living room door, where he son's friend and colleague is sleeping.

"Craig?" The man in question turns over and hurriedly wipes his eyes, trying to hide the evidence of his distress.

"Didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't, I was thirsty. Are you alright?" The young man shakes his head and James comes to sit on the chair by the sofa. "Can't sleep?"

"Keep seeing the building collapse." James doesn't comment on the fact that the twenty two year old has started to cry. It'll just make him embarrassed. "Keep imagining how it must have been for Chris. He, he wouldn't have died s-straight away would he?"  
"You can't know what happened Craig, its probably best you don't."

"But could he hear us trying to get to him? Did he know we were coming?" He's crying properly now, and it reinforces more then ever that these two, no matter how brave and how strong they are while at work, are still just boys when they get home.

"I don't know Craig. Nobody can know."

"I can't shake the idea that h-he th-thought we'd just left him there."

"He wouldn't have thought that kiddo. If I knew Chris half as well as I did, I'd know that he would have had every confidence his friends were coming to rescue him." The young man is still crying, trying to talk through his sobs and another voice cuts through.

"Dad?" His son is stood in the doorway, trying for all the world to look like he's just come down to see what's happening. But James knows better, he's well versed in the body language in of Sam Hathaway. The boy's eyes are red, and he's made himself look as small as he can, which is difficult, since the name is only half a foot shorter than him. "Craig? You alright?" It would have been more convincing if Sam's voice hadn't been shaking.

"Come here Sammy, come and sit down." Sam does so, and James can see his veneer crumbling. "Its alright mate." At his words, Sam gives up the fight and soon he's also crying softly. James hates seeing the two blokes like this, and he also can't help feeling guilty.

He's guilty because he's sitting there, comforting his son and a man that is becoming like a son to him, and feeling relieved that its someone else's boy that isn't coming home tonight. He hates himself for it, even as he acknowledges that its a perfectly rational response. He's always known that Sam does a dangerous job, but its nights like this that really bring it home.

Eventually, they both tire themselves out, and he elects to leave them sleeping on the sofa, rather than wake them up. They might not get back to sleep, and they desperately need the rest.

He makes them breakfast in the morning, and makes sure that they don't hear the news. He tells Craig that he's welcome to stay until his girlfriend comes back, although he's not surprised when the young man declines. He understands that need to be alone, he just makes it clear to the younger man that should he need to, the door is open.

He encourages Sam to help him with the housework, to give the man something else to think about. He lets Sam lecture him about the fact he isn't using his walking stick, without grumbling about it.

James isn't surprised when, after Christopher's funeral, Sam brings Craig back with him, and he listens as the two men talk about good memories they had of their fallen colleague.

And when Craig turns up on his doorstep a year later on the anniversary of that night, looking as upset and lost as Sam has all day; he lets him in without a word and makes him a cup of tea, while the two men console each other.


	11. Stars

Come on birthday boy, time for bed."

"N'sleepy."

"Course you are little fella, you can't keep your eyes open."

"I'm big boy now Daddy. Don't need bed." James chuckles quietly. Sam had been exactly he same when he turned five; convinced he was now a grown up and could have coffee and was allowed to stay up late. He had still expected a bedtime story though.

"Yes you do Ben. Even grown ups need bed. Go on, upstairs. We'll get you ready for bed."

"But-"

"Benny. Now." The little boy pouts adorably, but he does as he's told, dragging Sam up the stairs after him. Holly and James smile as they can hear Ben insisting that Sam needs to be a rocket.

The little boy had become obsessed with outer space a few months ago, and it was soon clear it wasn't a passing phase. He'd announced to the room at large one afternoon while he was drawing, that he was going to be an astronaut and be the first person to find aliens.

Suddenly there was a surprised squeal from above and soon the patter of feet sounded down the stairs.

"Think he's found my other present then?" James says to Holly.

"Quite possibly" She grins as Ben comes running into the room, holding a small box wrapped in garishly bright paper.

"Mummy look what I foun' on my bed!"

"Oooh, where'd you think that came from Benny?"

"Er...You an' Daddy?"

"No. Who else?" Ben cocks his head and then turns around to look at the arm chair.

"Gran'ad?" James smiles.

"I couldn't give it to you earlier"

"Why not?"

"Because...it only works in the dark." Ben's eyes widen and he rattles the box. James knows what's in there, as do Holly and Sam. Sam had been a bit concerned at first; 'Does it have flashing lights Dad?', but James had made sure it didn't. He'd asked at the shop and he'd cycled through every possibly setting the thing had when Sam had taken Ben for a check-up the week before.

"Can I open it Gran'ad?"

"Yeah, but lets get you up to bed first eh?"

"But then I can't play."

"Yeah you can, this toy needs you to be in bed for it to work." Hathaway stood up stiffly."Come on Scalliwag, up you go." Ben runs back up the stairs and James smiles. "I'll put him to bed. You two relax for a bit yeah?"

"Cheers Dad."

.

Ben has already opened the parcel by the time he gets up there. He's holding the box and staring in confusion at the picture on the front. James lowers himself into the chair, resting his walking stick against the wall. They'd bought the armchair for the room when Ben had started sleeping in the room alone. If he had a seizure at night, there really wasn't enough space on the child size bed for any of the adults to spend any significant amount of time there watching over him.

His grandson hands him the box and smiles, face all childish excitement.

"What is it Gran'ad? How you do it?" James grins and opens the box, pulling a small black orb on a stand out of it. He puts it on the kid's bedside table and Ben immediately crawls over to him. "What's if fooor?"

"We better have a look eh?" His grandson nods eagerly. "Well, first, you need to be all snuggled in bed."

"Not need bed for a toy Gran'ad."

"Yes you do. It says so in the instructions."

"Maybe the 'structions is wrong?" The little boy says hopefully. James chuckles.

"Nope, they definitely say you need to be in bed. Go on, have you got Rabbit?" Ben wriggled his hand around his pillow and nodded as he pulled out the knitted rabbit he's had since he was a month old.

"Got him."

"And are you all cosy in bed?"

"Hmmm..Yeah!"

"Alright then kiddo. Close your eyes then."

"Not going sleep."

"No I know mate, but you need to close your eyes so its a surprise don't you?" Ben obediently closes his eyes, and James quickly plugs the device into the wall and flicks the light off. He turns the orb on and straight away, the little orb projects the universe over the whole room. "Open your eyes then Benny." The boy does so, and immediately gasps in wonder.

"There's stars in my bedroom Gran'ad." James grins, happy that the present has had the desired effect. "Where they coming from?" Hathaway points to the orb, which slowly rotating.

"This shines light through and makes all the stars appear."

"Wow" Ben breathes. He reaches a hand up, trying to grab one and James can't help but laugh.

"You can't grab them mate, they are on the wall."

"Jus' like you can't grab real stars cos they all the way away." The boys stares upwards and then points at one star. "What that one called?"

"That one is called Orion." James presses a button or two on the orb stand and the other stars fade out to show just Orion and lines joining the parts of the constellation together. "Its also called the 'Great Hunter'."

"What he hunting up in space though?"

"I dunno mate, what do you think?"

"...Maybe aliens. But only bad aliens. Like the ones what try and zap with their ray guns."

"Orion, the great hunter of nasty aliens. I think you're right kiddo."

"W'bout that one?" James looks at where Ben is pointing. As he starts to explain, Ben wriggles himself out of the covers and crawls over to the side of the bed. Before James can say anything, Ben has crawled onto his lap and curled up there.

"Hey, that's not bed is it?"

"Want you Gran'ad." James' face softens and he leans over carefully and pulls the duvet to cover them both.

"I think we can ignore the instructions this one time eh mate?" Ben nods and then looks up again as James starts to explain all about The Plough.

Before long, Ben is fast asleep, one hand holding James' shirt and the other clutching Rabbit's arm. James quietly switches the planetarium off and gently lifts Ben into his bed, putting the duvet back over him and gently stroking his head.

"Happy birthday little fella. Sleep well."

Its less than three weeks before Ben can recite almost every constellation in the orbs database.


	12. Gossip

"What we having for dinner?"

"What do you feel like eh?" Sam looks around at all the shelves.

"Pizza!"

"We had pizza yesterday mate. Something different today."

"Hmmmmm. Pie! Can we have pie? Chicken pie. With loads and loads of gravy."

"I think we can do that, come on, lets go and find the pie and gravy then. And some potatoes." The seven year old hares off in front of him, running off to the potatoes. James watches, as Sam stops dead, and spins round, running back to him.

"Daddy...can we not have any peas?"

"You need to eat your veggies Sam, make you grow big and strong."

"Yeah, but can we not have any tonight? I'm already big and strong. I don't need peas." He grins up at his father. "I don't think any one _really_ needs peas." James chuckles.

"Just this once then alright. I mean it though. Just this once."

"Yes Daddy. Just this once for no more peas."

"Come on then, grab those potatoes, and lets go and pay." Sam pulls a bag of potatoes from the shelf and dumps it into the basket.

.

They stand in the queue and Sam does his best to sneak a chocolate bar into the basket.

"Put it back Sam."

"...But-"

"-No buts. There's no way you're not having peas and having chocolate." Sam huffs as he replaced the chocolate. He looks around, eyes falling on the sign above the checkout. James can see him mouthing the sounds to himself. It comes as somewhat of a relief. Its an ongoing struggle to get Sam to engage with words at the best of times. Its not that Sam isn't interested, not at all. He loves stories, and there's a keen thirst for science emerging. But getting the kid to read or write anything can be near impossible.

Occasionally though, occasionally the curiosity will get the better of the boy, and he'll stand there trying to read something, with a determined little look on his face.

Its been a steep learning curve for James himself as well. He knows the science and the logic behind Sam's diagnosis of dyslexia. He understands the mechanisms in play, or not in play as the case may be. But the emotional side of it all, is harder to comprehend. He doesn't know how best to deal with Sam's anger and frustration, because he doesn't fully understand it. He doesn't know what its like to look at a page of writing and not be able to decipher it properly. All he can do is be supportive and hope he's doing it right. So when he sees Sam trying to read something without a battle or without prompting, its encouraging, makes him feel like he's not failing too badly.

"What does that say, Dad?" Sam asks him, after a few minutes of mouthing phonics to himself.

"What do you think?"

"I dunno. It starts with a 'buh and then an 'ah''" James smiles, and ruffles his hair.

"It says 'Baskets Only' Sam."

"Right. So you can't bring a trolley to this till?"

"Nah, there's not enough space is there?" Sam smiles, and he looks at the conveyor, to see how much more shopping the person in front has to be scanned.

That's when James hears it. The ladies in the next queue think they're whispering, think they are being subtle. But they aren't. And one look at Sam, lets him know that his son heard it too.

" _He should be able to read that, lad of his age."_

He should let it go. They're in public, and he's an ex-policeman. He should know better. But Sam is looking at the floor, and he seems to have shrunk into himself.

And then he's in front of the cashier, and he's paying for their shopping. Sam hasn't made eye contact with him since the comment, and he's not looking up at the cashier either. One little comment, and his boy is ashamed enough not to look at anyone.

Well James isn't having it.

When they walk out of the supermarket, the same ladies are standing by a car. Sam still isn't looking at him, dragging his feet along the ground. Sod it, he's going to give them a piece of his mind.

"Excuse me," He says, all politeness. They turned to look at him, and they look uncomfortable. Good.

"Yes?"

"I couldn't help over hearing your comment about my son's reading ability, and I just wanted to tell you, that I think you need to grow the hell up." They look shocked, not expecting that end to a sentence that started so politely.

"I beg you pardon?"  
"Its not my pardon you should be begging, its his," he says, pointing at Sam. "You expect that kind of mindless teasing from children. Kids are cruel. But adults...adults should know when to keep their stupid opinions to themselves."

"How dare you-"

"-How dare _I_? You know nothing about my son. You know nothing about what he has to deal with, about any difficulties he might have. And yet you choose to make a public comment designed to belittle him. That's bullying. And someone your age should damn well know better!"

"I didn't mean-"  
"-I know what you didn't mean. You didn't mean to be heard." He sees Sam stand up a little straighter out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe he couldn't read that word, maybe he should be able to at his age, according to your uninformed opinions. But you know what? He bloody tried. And what did he get? Someone doing him down, because it doesn't fit with their view of how a boy they don't even know should be developing. That kind of thing can make a kid give up when it happens at school, let alone when it gets said in public in front of strangers." He snorts bitterly.

"Well, I hope it made you feel bigger. I hope it was bloody worth it. I'd ask you to apologise, but it'd be worth nothing, just like your opinions on my kid." He turns to Sam, who's standing there, trying not to smirk.

"Come on mate, dinner time eh?"

"Yeah."

.

When they get out of earshot, Sam slips his hand into James'.

"Thanks Dad."

"That's alright mate, someone needs to tell them."

"...I mean...thanks for not telling them I'm dyslexic."

"Its none of their business is it? I'll never tell anyone without making sure its alright with you first Sam."

"Like you asked before we told Uncle Robbie?"

"Yeah. Come on. Dinner and a DVD eh?" Sam nods, smiling a little.

"No peas?" James chuckles at him, shoving the shopping into the back of the car.

"No peas."


	13. Geminid

"Granddad come on."

"Ben, there's no rush, its not even dark yet." The seven year old crosses his arms.

"We need to get everything ready Granddad. Otherwise we'll forget something. And then what? You said it _had_ to be tonight." James smiles down at his grandson, once the boy has a plan, there's no stopping him.

"Alright, we'll get it all sorted. But then, you go and do your homework."

"Granddaaaaad."

"That's the deal kiddo. Take it or leave it." Ben huffs out a breath and scowls.

"Only the spellings. Not the maths."

"Only the spellings then, but you have to promise you'll do the maths tomorrow mate."

"Promise. Can you help me with the spellings Granddad? Dad needs to sleep for work and he doesn't like doing spellings."

"Yeah I'll help. Let's go and get this stuff ready for tonight then eh?" The kid runs out the room and opens the back door, heading down the garden to the shed. James grins, picking the keys up from the keyhook as he follows.

"How did you think you were gonna get in without keys Benny?"

"Knew you'd remember 'em."

"Oh is that right," James says, fighting back a grin at Ben's nod. "Have you got the list then fella?" Ben nods again, and pulls a crumpled list from his pocket. Hathaway would be willing to bet that he's been carrying it around with him all week.

"Got it right here Granddad. We need a plastic cover." James limps over to the back of the admittedly small shed, and pulls it out, sticking it on the floor outside.

"One plastic cover, check." Never mind that it's the cover for Holly's bike, it'll do.

"And we need pillows and blankets."

"Yeah, we'll get them after your spellings. Otherwise they'll get all damp and cold. One more thing from the shed I think Ben."

"The hand warmers! I know where they are." The kid clambers over the lawnmower and a rake to get to the box the hand warmers are in. They get the rest of the things that they need, except for the food and the pillows and go back in side.

.

Once the spellings are done, Hathaway and Ben stand in the kitchen making sandwiches, filling them up much more than is strictly necessary. Add a few packets of crisps and a flask of tea, and they were good to go. Juat as they were ready to go outside, Sam appeared in the kitchen, dressed for work.

"I'm off Dad. See ya Benny."

"See you son, stay safe."

"I will Dad."

"Bye Dad!"

"You two have fun." He leaves and Ben is soon tugging on James' sleeve.

"Come on Granddad. It's dark now. We need to go set up." Hathaway grins and lets the kid lead him into the garden. They lay the plastic bike cover on the ground, and Ben immediately springs up. "We forgot the pillows Granddad! I'll go and get them!"

"I was thinking about that. I think we should use the deck chair mate."

"'Cos of your knee?" James smiles softly at the way the boy picks up on things.

"Yeah, Granddad's knee isn't going to like lying on cold ground is it?" Ben frowns like he's trying to work something out. "It's a big deck chair mate. We can both sit on it. But we might need a blanket. It'll be cold."

"I'll get one!" Ben shouts, racing back to the house. James shakes his head and grabs the deckchair, complete with cushions, from the shed. He places it on the cover, along with the sandwiches and flask of tea. He's been looking forward to this for ages. Holly is in Liverpool for a few nights, visiting one of her flatmates, and Sam is working a night shift. And he and his grandson are going to indulge their love of astronomy, spending some quality time together in the process. James can't think of another way he'd rather spend an autumn evening. He sits back in the deck chair, grateful that its long enough for him to rest his legs on, and drops his walking stick on the floor next to it.

Ben comes running back down the garden, holding his duvet, and grinning.  
"We ready now Granddad?"

"I think we are mate. Up you come, this deck chair's plenty big enough for the two of us." Ben does so and James puts the duvet over the boy. He himself isn't cold yet, but he's not taking any chances with his grandson. The last thing they want is for him to get ill and end up with a fever. Fevers and epilepsy just don't mix. They'd found that out the hard way the year before.

He feels the child snuggle against him, and he puts his arms around Ben's shoulders.

"When we gonna see one Granddad?"  
"You have to be patient mate. Why don't you tell me about the stars eh?" He stares up at the night sky as his grandson tells him all about the constellations he can see. Its a breathtaking night, crisp and clear and the sky is lit up with tiny pinpricks of light, each one millions of light years away. Ben is talking in hushed tones, clearly awed as well, although not awed enough to stay silent. Not that James would have it any other way. The kids thirst for learning is a pleasure to see, even if it doesn't extend to his maths homework.

Suddenly, a flash zips across the sky, and Ben squeals in delight.

"Granddad! Did you see that too?"

"I did indeed mate. There you go. Your first meteor."

"There gonna be more? How fast was it going? Why did it have a tail? Did it land? Can we go find it? We can leave a note for Dad so he's not worried in the morning."

"Hold on. I can only answer one question at a time kiddo." He grins up at the sky, pleased that his grandson was as enthusiastic as he's suspected. "There will be more. This is called the Geminid Meteor shower. There should be one every few minutes, if we're lucky. But even so, we'll definitely see more."

"How fast was is going though? Cos it was like a flash, it musta been going really fast. Like five hundred miles an hour."

"Waaaay faster than that. It was going at about 71 kilometers per second."

"But how _fast_ is that."

"Fast enough to go round the whole earth in three point eight seconds." Ben sits up at that.

" _Blimey_ " he breathes and James chokes back a laugh. Ever since he'd over heard Sam use the word, it seemed to have become Ben's favourite. James supposed that they should all be thankful he hadn't picked up so readily on some of the other frequent...exclamations that were thrown around the house.

"The tail is caused by bits of it breaking off. That's what we can see. A bit like aeroplane trails. Although that's not bits breaking off. That's engine vapours." Another meteor hurtles across the sky and Ben falls silent, watching it. James can see his head jerk left and right every time one crosses his vision.

"Does it land?"

"No. Well, sometimes. The reason we can see it, is because its on fire. That's why its all lit up."

"Like how we can see stars cos they are big balls of fire and the light takes aaaages to get here."

"Yeah like that. Once the meteor hits the Earth's atmosphere, it starts to burn up. By the time it gets close to the ground, its in tiny pieces. Sometimes people do find bits though."

"Like in the science museum. They had bits didn't they Granddad?"

"That they did."

"So we can't go on an expedition to find a piece?"

"Not really kiddo."

"Suppose that's good really. We don't have nearly enough sandwiches."

They sit, quietly watching the meteors streak across the sky for the net hour and a half. Ben's attention doesn't waver, except to munch on a cheese sandwich and a packet of crisps. Soon enough though, James realises that he's stopped looking around, and the boy's breathing has settled into steady rhythm.

He gently picks the slumbering kid up, taking him inside and lying him on the sofa. He then goes back outside and clears everything up, locking the shed door behind him.

When he returns, Ben is sitting up on the sofa and rubbing his eyes, blinking at his Granddad in the light.

"Are they fin'sh' Gran'ad?" James smiles; whenever Ben is tired, he reverts to the mumbled half words he used when he was five.

"There's still a few more Ben, but I think you need to go to bed, don't you?" He nods, and holds his arms out to be carried upstairs. James lifts him with a groan, its not going to be long before the boy is too heavy and his knee is too buggered to do this. But nonetheless, he carries his grandson upstairs and puts him to bed, making sure that he has Rabbit, and a drink of water.

James sits downstairs for another half an hour, smiling softly to himself as he considers the little excursion to have been a success. Maybe next time he'll they can pitch a tent or something. Ben'd love that.

James reckons he probably would as well.


	14. Telly

Chrissy has only just put down her bag and flicked the kettle on, when she heard his key in the lock. "James?"

"Yeah its me." Silly question really. He's the only other person with a key to their flat, and if it was anyone else, they'd hardly announce themselves.

"Good day?" He slouches against the kitchen door frame, frowning.

"We got the bastard."

"That's good."

"Would have been better if he hadn't killed someone else this morning. And if Constable Marks wasn't in hospital."

"Oh no, is he alright?"

"Yeah...yeah he's ok." He gratefully accepts the tea she's made him, and sighs. "Just should have caught him sooner that's all."

"You did your best, you always do."

"Tell that to Mrs Williams, she's burying her daughter next week." He shakes himself, and she drops it. Chrissy knows that telling him its not his fault is useless. He can't accept it, not now, not after a nightmare at three in the morning. Distraction has always worked better.

.

.

.

.

An hour later, and they are both curled up on the sofa, a steaming bowl of chips and gravy in front of them. The catch up service on their telly is running, cheerfully flashing up programmes they can watch. She knows the choices though.

"Casualty, Holby City, or Midsomer Murders?"

"Hmm, Holby City I think." It fits the pattern. They tend to watch the opposite of whatever the issue is. If she's had a bad day, its a detective show, if he has, its a medical drama.

"Holby it is then? You comfy?" He wriggles a little, and nods.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah." James reaches forward, and pulls the lap tray, complete with gravy soaked chips, onto their knees. She presses play, and he starts counting in his head.

"Oh for the love of...that's not protocol!" It only took her four minutes to get annoyed. That's a new record. "You can't defibrilate someone on that drug! You'll just double stop their heart. Actually no, those monitors have been saying he's fine for the last minute. Shocking someone with those paddles when their heart is fine, will kill them. He's dead. Who writes this shit?"

"I want to know who their advisers are, because they need new ones."

"They really do. That drug isn't prescribed. And certainly not to someone on a ventilator." Just as he is about to agree with her, she shouts again. "OH MY GOD HE'S GOT A SPINE INJURY WHAT ARE YOU DOING PICKING HIM UP!" James chuckles and she huffs at him, before grinning.

"Maybe I should be an adviser? Could make a fortune."

"Chris, they'd get axed."

"Why d'you say that?"

"Because you'd make it so realistic that they'd be waiting for the blood results for the entire weeks episodes."

"Well its true, blood work doesn't come back in twenty minutes. It gives the public unrealistic expectations."

"That's true, but-"

"-No, no, no, no no! Don't put anything in his mouth. What the hell? If she was on my ward, the matron would have sacked her. That's like 1950's medicine right there. I mean who puts something in an epileptics mouth?"

"Idiots clearly," He replies, moving the now finished chips onto the table again. "Even in our first aid training we learn that, in case some misguided but well meaning member of the public calls us when someone has a fit."

"We are only halfway through, and they've killed two people, paralysed one for life, and broken a kids jaw. Or should have anyway. I don't even know that they have advisers. They just have two mice, an ant and a shrew all sitting around a tumble weed." He bursts out laughing at that, and she ends up laughing with him.

"That was certainly one of your more inventive ones."

"Well, it winds me up."

.

As they near the end of the episode, she realises that her husband has been quiet for the last ten minutes. A quick glance down, and she sees that his eyes are closed, his breathing steady.

She should wake him up, and take him to bed. She should go to bed herself.

But its so rare for him to drop off like this, his face smooth without the lines of fear that she so often sees there. Its so rare for his hand to be round her waist because he put it there in his sleep, rather than he needs it there to feel any semblance of safety.

So she shifts into a slightly more comfortable position, before switching the TV off from the remote and closing her eyes as well.

Their numb limbs won't thank them when they do wake, but if James looks to be getting a decent night's sleep for once, then she'll put up with a little discomfort.


	15. Fit

"Look Gran'ad!" James apparently takes a second too long to respond and Ben tries again. "Graan'aaaad! Look at the rocket!" The Rocket is a toilet roll tube that's been painted black and white. Sam had stuck a cone on the end and Ben has been happily running around and 'landing' on every surface he can find.

"How's the mission going Benny?"

"Good. But they losted one of the as'ranauts on Mars."

"Where's Mars then mate?" Ben points to the other side of the room.

"Mars on that patch of a'rug." James looks over, and sure enough, there's a Lego man standing on the rug, hands raised in the air.

"He does look like he's stranded there."

"He is. But its ok. Cos they gonna do a rescue mission af'er lunch."

"They're gonna make him wait that long?"

"Yeah. He got lotsa air and he's got a book."

"Well, that's alright then." Ben nods his agreement and carries on playing, breaking off every now and then to ask Hathaway whether you can have space suits for cows.

James looks up as he hears the footsteps stop. Ben had run in laughing a minute before, but now there wasn't any sound at all, and that set off alarm bells. He quickly drops the magazine he'd been reading. Ben is standing in the middle of the room, still holding onto the rocket loosely. But he's unfocused and disorientated, swaying slightly.

"Ben?" There's no discernible response. "Ben mate...can you hear me?" The boy blinks and takes a step forward, but he doesn't acknowledge his grandfather's attempt to get through to him.

Suddenly, he cries out and drops to the floor, limbs stiffening, his entire body juddering.

"Shit" James dropped down to the floor next to Ben, ignoring the stab of pain in his knee as he landed. The juddering has turned into rhythmic jerks. "S'alright mate. You're gonna be alright." He checks his watch quickly, before grabbing a cushion from the chair and easing it under his grandson's head, all the while, stroking the kids forehead. Choking sounds come from Ben's throat, and even as James knows that Ben isn't really choking, the sounds tear through him.

Ben hasn't had a seizure for three weeks, and they'd all thought that his medication dose had brought them under control. It seems not to be the case and just as they'd started to relax, it seems that the tests and the medication doses are all going to be changed again. For now though, the primary concern is the shaking child lying next to him.

The jerks slow down, and soon all that's left is a twitch in Ben's left arm. That too ceases, and James rolls the boy onto his side, hoping to drain any saliva to stop Ben choking on it.

Ben is still now, eerily so, and James starts to rub his back, checking his watch again. Ninety seconds. Not a dangerous amount of time. There's no need to call an ambulance so far. Just a regular seizure. He can feel Ben not breathing, and although he knows it'll only be ten or so seconds, he can't help but panic a little, as he does every time this happens.

"Come on kiddo. Breathe for me eh?" More circular motions on the kids back. "Granddad really needs you to breathe okay, Benny boy."

Almost on cue, Ben gasps and his eyes open. They close again almost immediately, but that's alright, as long as the kid is breathing.

"You're going to be fine matey. Its okay. I'm right here. Grandad's here Benny."

They sit there like that for another six minutes; James gently trying to comfort the kid. Eventually, the four year old opens his eyes properly and starts to try and push himself upright. He stops and starts to whimper, eyes filling up with confused tears.

"Nnnnnn"

"You back with me little fella? You just stay there for a short while Ben. It's okay." Ben whimpers for a second time, and again, tries to get up. When it fails to work, he starts to give tiny sobs.

"Oh mate, come here. It's alright kiddo. Its alright," James soothes as he sits back against the front skirt of the sofa, cradling the exhausted child in his arms. As Ben calms down, he gets more and more tired, but its now clear to James that the fit is done, and nothing abnormal happened during it. Ben just needs rest and a bit of a fuss. Even though he knows that, he needs to make sure.

"Hey Benny. You're a brave boy." Ben looks up at him, a minute smile playing on his face. "Do you know who I am kid? Who am I eh?"

"'Rana'"

"Can you say that again for me?"

"Gran'a" That's close enough James decides.

"Good boy. You're going to be just fine son." He gets up and gently lays his grandson on the sofa before digging out one of Ben's favourite DVD's and putting in the player. He then gets Ben lying with his head on James' thigh, all the while rubbing the boy's shoulder and gently stroking the back of his head. Exhaustion causes Ben to fall asleep less than ten minutes later, as he often does after a seizure. James is content just to sit there, mindlessly watching the kids programme and keeping a close eye on his post ictal only grandson.

.

Which is where Sam and Holly find them when they get back from the restaurant. Hathaway has moved on to watching a documentary about octopi, and Ben is still fast asleep, thumb in his mouth.

"Hi Dad...Was he well-" One look is enough to tell them that something wasn't right. Sam sighs. "How bad was it?"

"Only lasted a minute and a half. He was confused when he woke up, and upset. But he's fine. He's been asleep."

"I'm sorry Dad."

"Its not your fault Sam."

"I know, I just...there's us gone out and you had to-"

"-I don't mind." James re thinks what he said. "I mean, I mind that he has to go through it, course I do. I'd have them instead if I could. But I don't mind looking after him when it does happen." Holly smiles and James changes his tone. "So, did you have a good night?"

"We did James, thank you." Holly walks over and picks the now stirring Ben up. "Come on Benny. Bed time. Mummy and Daddy are home now, Granddad's been looking after you well hasn't he?" Ben's response is to sigh and stretch a little before huddling back down into her arms. They all know he'll sleep soundly all night now, providing he doesn't seize again. He'll feel absolutely fine tomorrow when he wakes up, ready to set up base camps all over the house. Sam and Holly take their little boy up to bed, and James makes moves to follow, limping heavily as his knee protests the rough treatment it got earlier.

Looking down, he smiles softly, and finally rescues the stranded Lego man, placing him on the table.


	16. Hospital

I gave myself the challenge to tell a story in one thousand words, using ten, one hundred word drabbles.

.

.

.

The coughing has been going on too long. Sam knows that, deep down. Its confirmed as his father slumps over in his armchair. Even as he takes in Ben's ashen face and his mind starts screaming at him; his training takes over and he snaps into action. Hauling his father out of the armchair and onto the floor, he shouts to Holly to call an ambulance. It doesn't register with him exactly what he's doing. Doesn't register that he's subconsciously preparing to do CPR.

"The ambulance is on its way, Sam"

"Thanks love. Hear that Dad? They're coming."

.

.

.

Sam hasn't missed the paramedics worried glances. They smile reassuringly at him, but he hasn't missed those looks. He's seen enough people struggling to breath at work. He can tell from the hue of his dad's skin, and the speed they are barrelling along, that this is very bad. He's probably worked with this paramedic crew. Can't remember their names right now. Suddenly the beeping goes haywire, and the paramedic has jumped up from her seat.

"Step on it Dan, we need to be there five minutes ago," _Jesus Christ_ , _Dad isn't breathing_. "Stay with us James, nearly there."

.

.

.

Sam sits down by his father's hospital bed. There was no reaction from the old man, not that Sam was expecting one. The intensive care unit is designed to be quiet and peaceful, but Sam just finds it unnerving. He takes James' hand, careful not to dislodge any of the various needles and clips that are attached. Sam starts speaking, he just needs to hear something other than beeps and artificial breathing. Even if its just his own raspy voice.

"You alright Dad? Course not, stupid question. In my defence, I haven't had much sleep these last two days."

.

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"Where's m'wife?" That shocks Sam enough to stop him in his tracks for a second.

"W-what?"

"Chrissy. Someone needs...tell her...pick up my little boy." _Oxygen deprivation, brain damage._ The words sprung unbidden into Sam's head. It could be fever. It could be their new normal.

"Dad...Mum's been dea-" He stops. He can't do it. He's a stranger to his dad at the moment, and he just can't bring that grief on again. "She'll be here soon D-James." He wells up as James falls back into a fitful sleep, apparently comforted enough. Sam doesn't share the feeling.

.

.

.

No-one saw it coming. Not the doctors, not the nurses. One minute Sam was trying to calm down his confused father. The next he was watching in horror as he had a seizure. Its different with Ben. With Ben, he knows what to expect. But this is his seventy six year old father convulsing whilst the nurses scramble to control his limbs and brain chemistry.

"...Mr Hathaway? We're taking your Dad back up to ICU. We need to get his temperature under control, try to prevent this happening again."

All Sam can manage to do is nod, and follow.

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James wakes up slowly. Sam sees the fear immediately apparent in his father's eyes, and his relief at James being awake flips into a need to comfort him.

"Back with us?" James turns his head to look at Sam, but he still looks terrified. Sam starts to rub his shoulder, in an attempt to ground his clearly panicking father.

"Dad? Its okay, you're in hospital. You have pneumonia. You gave us quite a scare, but you're on the mend now. You're alright. Love you"

Hathaway manages a tired smile before falling asleep and Sam finally lets himself relax.

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.

.

"Mr Hathaway? Wake up. You're dreaming." James starts awake, coughing and spluttering himself into consciousness.

"W-where...?"

"You're in hospital Mr Hathaway, its okay, you're safe."

"Sam?"

"Sam isn't here Mr Hathaway. Its three am. You're alright." His eyes widen, and she knows that her words aren't sinking in. She takes his hand in reassurance and sits with him as he eventually calms. Once he's fallen back to sleep, she turns her attention to the patient in the next bed, who had alerted her to James' distress.

"Thank you Mr Longcross, He'll be alright now."

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"How's my garden doing?"

"Fine. Ben's been keeping an eye on everything."

"Someone could do with giving this place some plant food to be honest." Sam smiled. Never thought he'd say it, but hearing his Dad grumbling is fantastic.

"You complained that you wanted outdoors twenty minutes ago, now you're insulting the garden." He fusses with the blanket, making sure his Dad is kept warm.

"I'm not insulting it. Just saying it needs a bit of TLC." James turns his face up to the weak winter sun and smiles. "Beats being stuck on that ward."

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"You're being discharged today Mr Hathaway."

"About time." Suddenly, he backtracks. "I didn't mean- Everyone has been really nice I just-" She chuckles. The man has been one of the most polite grumps they've had in a long time.

"Its okay Mr Hathaway, I understand. You just want to go home." The porter comes through the door, with a wheelchair. "Looks like your ride is here."

"Oh... I can walk."

"Hospital policy I'm afraid. Can't have you falling over on your way out, can we?"

"Spose not." He grumbles. Then, "Thank you. For everything."

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Its probably not warm enough for this, but Sam just didn't have the heart to say no. So he and his father are in the garden, James wrapped up in a couple of blankets, complete with hat and gloves. Overkill maybe, but Sam will do anything make sure his dad stays well. He hands over a steaming mug of tea, that James takes gratefully, cupping it in his hands.

"I've been dreaming of this moment for twelve days."

"Tea sorts everything." James nods in happy agreement, sitting back, finally content.

"Its so fucking good to be home."


End file.
